Wednesday's Child
by thursdayschild7
Summary: Either you could appreciate beauty at its most uncoventional and violent, or you couldn't. His greatest fear is the unknown, what is hers?
1. The Dark Lord, There is no Hope in Death

The Dark Lord- Five Years before Hermione's Incarceration

_Wednesday's child_

_Wears glasses up-side down _

_To see the world right-side up_

_She sees in Grays and greens and Gold_

_Glass flowers falling from the sky_

_To tangle in her hair_

_Cut her eyes wide open_

_She bleeds, she bleeds and bleeds_

_As it all breaks beneath her feet_

She bleeds up into the sky

_Or, the sky could collapse,_

_Settle at her feet_

Then she'd have nothing left to stand on

_Beside…_

The sky

_Now jagged masses, icy and cruel_

_Unreal_

Ethereal

_Sheer, shrill_

Vague, vapor

_Hazed_

Craze, blaze

_Blue fire_

_Ricocheting in your empty ribcage_

_Or a deep crevice_

Essence of desire

_Or an eternal sky_

A reflection of an endless sea

_Pulling down the moon_

Pushing apart the land

_Crashing against_

_Thrashing, writhing, thriving_

Crushing, spraying, splashing

Bashing

_Then, waning, sinking, diving_

_Retreating into itself_

Succumbing to envelopment

_To hibernate, wait_

To appreciate

_Alleviate _

Expurgate

_Just to be lured back into its' own trap,_

_A cycle and a cage_

A cycle within a cage of itself

_Enslaved by the moon_

_By its love, or not love, obsession_

_Its own obsession_

_(pick one)_

Its own

_Inherent _

Upon introspection

_Honesty_

Honor

_And death_

The way of nature

Leading to perfection

_Silence and stone_

_The deepness of the ocean_

_The curve of…_

_Obsidian_

_A somber butterfly_

A sobering sweetness fluttering by

_Daintily flitting, a reminder of something lost_

Of something old becoming new

Free

_(Free from obligation_

_Conscience_

_Law_

_Society)_

Guilt

Lord Voldemort was one of the few to appreciate and to cultivate the rare talent of seeing beauty in the most real and exquisite pain. In the kind of pain that tears at your guts; the kind of pain that quickens your blood flow while crushing your heart. The sort of pain that has claws and could almost rip you open from the inside, shred your flesh and crawl out. In the kind of pain that can only be self-inflicted or produced by the most intimate of betrayals. Pain is reality, pain is life.

Betrayal, the actual deed is much less prettier than the idea of it. So beautiful in thought-up scenarios, so terribly harsh in reality. So very powerful either way. If you can hurt someone physically or emotionally you have that power over them. By not wishing to use it, you gain more.

His regret was not being able to inflict that sort of pain personally, or feel that kind of pain himself. He hadn't been capable since he was a young boy of eighteen. But he could still be the cause of it indirectly. The puppeteer.

Before Hermione had been so exposed to the Dark Lord, she would have argued that. She might have screamed, "Don't you know how many fathers you kill, how many children you have taken from their mothers? How many lovers have been separated by your cruelty, your chaos! Your ideas, your war? You cause so much hurt."

Only after being whim to his manipulations she would truly understand that there was pain worse than being separated from your lover by death. And sometimes you can hurt yourself far worse than any other being. Accepting truths about yourself and loved ones can take more courage than seeing your death in the enemy's eyes as their wand digs into your skin.

"My war is impersonal, and as of yet, you know nothing of my cruelty." Is what Lord Voldemort may have told a young and tender-hearted Hermione Granger.

Either you could appreciate beauty at its most unconventional and violent or you couldn't. Lord Voldemort saw in Miss Granger the potential of his younger self, but unlike his younger self he felt she needed a nudge in the right direction. She had that potential but she didn't seem to surround herself with those that did or ever would. He wanted to open her eyes, watch her grow into herself, her own ambitions, and his. He could provide her with the necessary environment. No one thought to question the reasons or motivations behind his actions. No one had dared for a long while.

Lord Voldemort would do whatever needed doing to accomplish his goals. He proved that with his first murder and every murder since then.


	2. Draco Malfoy, What One is Taught

Draco Malfoy- Four Years Later

She looked forward to this half-hour every week. The closest she got to privacy anymore. Mostly because nobody was interested in seeing Azkaban's resident mudblood bitch bathe, or she had a friend somewhere. Not even Alastor Moody guarded her, the sick fuck.

Here in this cold, drafty pit that Aurors called the bathing room, left completely alone, she saw stars. The only stars she saw anymore, pin-pricks and tiny shots of light, orgasm induced stars. As far as she was concerned 'real' stars didn't exist anymore. Not much existed beyond her dank cell, the bathing pit, and a bit of dull grey hallway that connected the two. She closed her eyes to bring herself as she thought of her first crush. A crush she didn't understand at the time but was now more than obvious. He was almost everything she secretly wanted to be then, not anymore. Just like faces and pictures weren't enough to satisfy her anymore.

She needed situations and conversations to stimulate herself. It was worth it, even as terrible and guilty as she felt for abusing her memories in that way. Even through the disrespect showed it was worth it. Nothing felt sacred anymore but for a few glorious moments she would be alive again.

Draco Malfoy. Smooth pale skin with hair to match. His arrogant stance and grey eyes that confidently moved across her body; looks that heated her cheeks and flushed her neck. It was during then sixth year that the two of them had come to a shaky truce, in the name of sanity, but it wasn't until the beginning of their seventh year that the truce changed, became more. It was not until their seventh year that they strayed from the 'safe subjects' that they had their first real conversation, and Hermione realized for the first time that Draco Malfoy was just as real as her. He had beliefs, interests, and opinions. He was more than a two-dimensional character whose sole purpose was to disturb the peace in her and her friends' lives. He lived outside that role. He always existed, always living beyond what she saw of him. He was a sneaky, conniving, petty, whiny, cruel boy but was that all he was? Is that how his parents saw him, his love interest? Maybe.

It was also the first time he treated her as something beside a two-dimensional character in his own life; because somehow through-out the years, he had let her become something different than that. Somewhere along the line she had begun to interest him. It happened after a particularly difficult and tiring detenition they served together thanks to Harry and Weasley's childish antics. Draco had made some careless comment on the walke out of the forbidden forest. She didn't rembmer the exact words they exchanged so she had to fill in some of the blanks, but she never forgot the tone and almost polite interest they had for what the other said. And that was what was important. Hermione lay her half-dreaded mess of hair against the cold stone.

"Slytherin doesn't own the rights to any behavior even if it is cunning and subtelety, and you lot certainly aren't the only ambitious students in Hogwars. Being presumptuous doesn't become you." Hermione said in her signature haughty, know-it-all tone and was surprised he let her get so many words out, disagreeable words.

"Dazzle me with your superior observational skills then Granger," Draco said, not missing a beat. "I want three examples."

"As if I need to prove my point to the likes of you… but, for the sake of argument and my reputation… I am my first example."

"You can't count yourself." Draco stated, a bit incredulously. "You aren't even past one and you are resorting to cheating. Are you that desperate?"

Hermione broke their steady pace abruptly, putting her hand on her hips, she shifted her weight to her right foot and sighed impatiently; a tactic she had often seen her mother employ when dealing with patronizing Daddy dearest. "AND who made that a rule Malfoy?"

Draco lazily folded his arms across his chest in retaliation. "I never said it was a rule. It is only common sense, no?"

Obviously frustrated, Hermione began illustrating her words with her hands. "And I never said that you said it was a rule. If it isn't a rule… just, never mind. You are being childish. Maybe because you know I am right." They looked at each other for a few very quiet seconds. "Well why, oh genius that is Malfoy, can I not use myself as an example?"

"Because Granger, he said, ridiculously slow, "You are an anomaly. If I were more vulgar and had less manners I might say you were Nature's freak. I still want three examples."

"Like that makes sense," Hermione mumbled, rolling her eyes. Hermione counted on her pointer finger. "Percy." Seeing Draco's expression she explained further. "So he isn't particularly clever, but you have to be fairly ambitious to become junior assistant to the minister only one year out of Hogwarts. And obviously he didn't care how he got the position." She counted two on her middle finger while Malfoy waited, patiently? "Dumbledore, he isnt' ambitious in the conventional sense what with turning down numerous offers for the position of Minister of Magic. You know what I mean?" She asked a little uncertainly, but continues with her old fervor. "But you wouldn't let that fool you." She looked pointedly at Draco but received no reaction or response.

"He is ambitious, cunning, and even arrogant," she added softly. "He would resort to less 'moral' means in pursuit of those ambitions, even if he believes he is doing what is right for most of the Wizarding world. And that in itself is arrogant, to think that he could possibly know what is the best for everyone. Messing in peoples lives." Draco continued to look at her neither bored nor interested, but unaffected.

"'Those folks use any means to achieve their ends.' Sound familiar?"

"It sounds suspiciously like a ratty old hat Granger. Do you remember everything?"

"No," she said testily, thinking of Harry and Ron. "Just what I think may be useful alter." Draco smiled, "Tut, tut, tut, Granger, giving yourself away at every turn."

"Don't interrupt me. I was going to say that from time to time Dumbledore is known to conveniently forget laws and he isn't above ruthlessly using people." Truth was he lost her respect when he broke his own moral code. "In fact," Hermione paused for effect, "That means he is more dangerous because people don't expect those sort of tactics from an honorable former head of Gryffindor."

"Perhaps," Draco began, somewhat smugly, "they deserve to be used if they are going to be so gullible. Who is to say what they do not know will not hurt them."

"That is exactly my point. You can't be assuming and you can not categorize people."

"Then this is where we disagree" Draco smirked condescendingly. "Most of them can be categorized anyway. Let us see: Freaks of Nature; you, Dumbledore, and my father. Gullible idiots; anyone who is under the impression that Dumbledore is a twinkly old wizard. Then, there are people worth knowing and beyond that, the uninformative, know-nothing, mindless mass. Which, by the way, every Weasel who has ever lived falls under. I suppose boy-wonder belongs in the reak of nature category as well. Forgot about him," Draco sneered.

"Does that mean you are admitting that you, a Malfoy, can be categorized?" Hermione demanded unconsciously mimicking Draco's sneer.

Draco replied with his usual lazy confidence. "Only as far as not being in any of the idiot categories. You see, anybody in the worth knowing category can't be categorized, just set apart from the others, that being the common factor. That is one reason they are worth knowing. Perhaps there should be a group of freaks of nature worth knowing and another group that is worthless." Draco said, actually contemplating the idea. "You could be worth knowing, like my father. Don't look at me that way Granger, take it for the compliment it is. Potter… I'm not sure about. It certainly has not done me any good knowing him. But I would be content never having known Dumbledore."

"Me too," said Hermione, for the first time in her life verbally agreeing with Draco Malfoy, a.k.a ferret face. "So, your father and I are in the same category?" She asked a scowl on her face.

Hermione came back to herself, stiff a little sore but almost boneless. It was time to go back to her cell.


	3. Blaise Zabini, Becoming Herself

Blaise Zabini- Eighteen Months Later

On their romance;

She had become resigned to never finding him, until she did, find him. She was thrown into a whirlwind and it was alright because they shared that chaos together. He was with her through it all and she wasn't disappointed. Not in his smile. Not in his kisses, not in the words he spoke or his ideas and aspirations. She was beyond charmed and he indulged her. Not disappointed, even in that.

Sure, Azkaban was dementor free thanks to Dumbledore and Voldemort's joint effort, but Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that she would still become as mad as Bellatrix Lestrange, and in half the time. When the dementors had guarded the prison there was always plenty to occupy Hermione's young and inquisitive mind, even if she was forced to relive her worst memories. The dementor's deflection to Voldemort left most of Azkaban's residents without any stimulation at all. Hermione was a special case. She had what they called therapy sessions, more thanks to Dumbledore. Sometimes she wondered if some had made the sessions into an excuse to attempt to humiliate her, degrade her. Somewhere inside Hermione's messy head was a phrase- anything was better than nothing at all, right?

"April first, this was written in your seventh year in Hogwarts, was it not?" The nasally voice asked. You'd think they would allow a change of scenery for torture sessions, but no, they remained in her cell. Hermione shook her head, yes. They must have been awfully stupid to not have realized by now that anything read to her from her journal would not make her squirm. She had come to terms with what she was a long time ago. Although once in a while she looked back at herself and could feel a little embarrassed at her younger, more naïve self being so exposed; her secrets being displayed. Try to save the house elves, indeed. But she rarely felt guilty.

"Lately I have been obsessed with the fictional character, Lord Sauron, and the much more real Dark Lord of our times; Lord Voldemort. I think part of the interest comes from the mystery and power surrounding both. There is so much potential, for gaining knowledge, for stories. So little is known about Voldemort. Complex? He is ruthless and probably heartless. Possibly his own God? People aren't born made, for any purpose, for good or for evil. They are both made and shaped or, they make themselves. What I am interested in is their transformations. I am rather interested in making one's self whether intentionally or coincidentally. There aren't reasons for everything. Sometimes, most of the time, things just happen. We are left to react, to decide what we will do. Part of the fascination comes from being interested in being ruthless myself. Also, I wonder how it would be and feel like to be heartless. Sometimes I wonder if I am on that path. Can someone who is completely heartless feel lonely?

"At the very least, I want to destroy or rid myself of anything that makes me vulnerable, any vulnerable part of me. Though even thinking about that at makes me sad, then angry. Sad, because that part of me that is vulnerable is also child-like. What fills in the places of yourself that you kill? I don't want to lose myself. I want to change. Change or die. I have been thinking about that lately. Adapt to survive or die in… pride, steadfastness, for whatever reason you won't change. And I see characteristics in the 'bad' character I would like to have myself. That doesn't mean I want to be evil or be someone else. I just want to grow and harden, to be able to protect myself. So that nothing can touch me except myself." The nasally voice stopped and Hermione looked up into the youngish face of the therapist.

"Hermione, do you think your unhealthy obsession was the result of yours' and Blaise's failed relationship. You were hurt and you didn't feel in control. You were left alone to hurt by yourself, you couldn't' stop that, and by that time you had alienated yourself from your friends."

Hermione, slumped in a chair, sat up straight and gave him a look of utter contempt, "Oh bravo!" She said sarcastically. She didn't have friends because she was disgusted by them. Not because she gave up her whole world for him. Right. Rationalize. Perhaps she had been waiting for him, another step in life, and she had been drifting away from her friends for quite sometime. He was just the final push.

Blaise would not have been attracted to her had she so carelessly thrown her life to him, like so many girls before her. No, he had fought for every inch and won.

"Well then, let's continue shall we?" It seemed to Hermione that the therapist had the unhealthy obsession, her journal.

"I really do wonder if it would be lonely. I only have one confidant right now and I'm not so lonely. Though, sometimes I cry for all that I lost and I know I will lose so much more. I can't honestly say I miss Ron. I could once. The bitterness I feel toward him and our entire situation lets me know that and reminds me often. I wouldn't feel bitter if I hadn't cared once upon a time. I guess I was hurt so much intentionally or unintentionally, it is difficult to miss that. Harry, he is a different story. I miss him very much. I ache for him, as a friend, and he hurts so much. There isn't a thing can do for him. Ron has always been better for Harry than I have. That in itself makes me sad. I hope they stick together. I hope they don't let petty differences separate them, or let Voldemort's chaos and discord, separate them. I hope it makes them stronger for each other.

"It is so difficult. I'm not even sure I can be what I want to be, or what I think I want to be. Thinking about a situation is different than being in a situation. As far as it goes and as far as I have tested myself, generally, I have more compassion for animals than human beings. Humans have more control over themselves and the lives they live. Freedom of choice. You can do anything you want; you can even choose not to accept the consequences, well, try to ignore them. I get so disgusted by people. People don't want to take responsibility for their beliefs or their actions. It is hard to feel sympathy for something you are disgusted by. It is even more difficult to feel sympathy for people or things I can't relate to. What does that say about what I have become?

"I am nervous to talk about this with anyone. I am scared of what they might say, the looks of horror on their faces confirming my suspicions. His face."

"Your journal entry ends there," said the therapist. "What suspicions did you have?"

Hermione glared at his soft face. She had always disliked much softness in a male. It was gross.

"Well, al-alirght," he stuttered. "How do you feel about what I've just read to you?"

"What do you want me to say?" Hermione demanded, in a voice scratchy from disuse. "What would you like to hear?"

"Hermione, dear," he said sleazily, "this isn't about what I want to hear. This is for you, for your well-being."

"Not it isn't, this is about people being arrogant enough to assume to know what is best for me, even in this hell-hole. This is a way to justify my sentence to this… place. This is a way to help the people who put me in here and all involved feel better about themselves. This is about them sleeping better at night and satisfying disgusting, insignificant, pathetic, curios people like you," Hermione spat out bitterly.

The therapist had the grace to be embarrassed. His cheeks flushed and he started fiddling with his quill. "Well, this show of anger, however misdirected is a good sign. You are angry about your lack of control. We are finished for the week, until next time."

He had no courage; he practically fled after having the 'last word'. Well, at the very least, he hadn't tried to justify her actions or thoughts to anyone this time.


End file.
